I have a secret grief....a grief that hit me in my mid-thirties without warning. Maybe some of the single women out there can relate, but I'm ABSOLUTELY positive that most women at my age will NOT relate to it.
By all appearances, my life was or rather 'looks' fantastic, or pretty close. I had a great job in New York City for a few years and then moved to Dallas, good friends, some 'ok' dates. But then there were times, lonely days and nights, when I would cry. I would sob. I didn't make much of it back then ...figured it was just my monthly hormones doing its 'jingle'. I would lie in bed awake for hours, tears running onto my pillow. I was in mourning, but I didn't know it.
Having experienced the same feeling for a few years, it took me awhile to realize that the grief was due to being single, childless, or more poignantly, over the loss of a life I could never have. In all honesty, by this time I had expected to be married and a mother to at least two kids. I was far from it: I am Still very single, no kids. Passing by a new mother/ new couple and their infant strolling down the street or in the grocery store would rattle my womb. I would catch myself especially staring at that 'mother-child' scene, touching my belly and wishing..... Even seeing a woman swollen from seven or eight months of pregnancy would cause me to swallow that lump in my throat. Nothing about this is hormonal. I was mourning the loss of any chance at the family life I always dreamed of. It's the only thing I dreamed of.
And I grieved alone. I still grieve at times. I just don't talk about it
Grief over not being able to have children is acceptable for couples going through biological infertility.
Grief over childlessness for a single woman in her thirties and forties is less accepted. INSTEAD, it's assumed we just don't understand that our fertility has a limited lifespan and we are being reckless with chance. Most family and friends, have labeled us "career women" as if we graduated college, and got jobs to exhibit some sort of feminist muscle. Or, it's assumed we're not trying hard enough, or we're being too picky. Don't even get me started on the latest trends where people assume that I don't really want children because 'I haven't frozen my eggs, or had a biological baby as a single woman'. Seriously, are you kidding me???.
This type of grief — grief that is not accepted or that is silent — is referred to as disenfranchised grief. It's the grief you don't feel allowed to mourn because your loss isn't clear or understood. You didn't lose a sibling or a spouse or a parent. But losses that others don't recognize can be as powerful as the kind that is socially acceptable.
Let me be clear: When you're over 35, left heartbroken many, many years ago by the guy who you thought was 'the one', or haven't had a good date in a while, or watch your close friends go on to their second or third pregnancy, it's hard. It's disarming. And sometimes, it's unbearable.
I've always loved being around babies. I remember that I couldn't get enough of my newborn cousins, nieces and nephew. I remember always volunteering to baby-sit them while I can. Not having my own, I felt like the world, in one big swoop, was moving forward and I was being held back.
Some people think that by grieving not having children while still single, I’m putting the cart before the horse. They wonder, Can’t she just get married and have kids? Doesn’t she understand her biological clock is ticking? Is she being too picky, or not trying hard enough?
No matter why a woman remains single, she’s reminded every month that she was made, at least in part, to bear children. These questions are common—from both strangers and loved ones. But the answers are complex and particularized. And for every single woman you meet who you think has a fatal flaw making her unmarriageable, you can probably think of another woman with that same fatal flaw who is happily married.
But no matter why a woman remains single, she’s reminded every month—in pain and in blood—that she was made, at least in part, to bear children. Her body doesn’t let her mind and heart forget.
I turn 40 this year. Just the anticipation of turning 37... 38... 39...the past few years, and remaining single was creating more anxiety than anything else in my life. I'm starting to realize that despite my dreams (and my deep biological and emotional desire to be a mother), I was still happy for all the other things in my life. Being a daughter, a sister, being an aunt was (and will probably always be) my greatest joy. Starting my blog, doing my DIY projects, and fulfilling my professional potential have been extraordinarily rewarding.
I'm starting to resign and quietly move on. Becoming a mother at this point would be a very happy surprise. Of course, I still have my moments. That hard-won peace of mind can be interrupted by the somewhat frequent occasional questions from an uncle, aunt, friend or family member asking "So, have you met anyone yet?" or "Mollee, why are you still single??". Or when people assume I never wanted kids because I don't have any. Or worse, presume that I am happier for being childless, or more fortunate for not having to "worry about kids." Some have even come to have called me at my face "childfree" — a term coined by those who have chosen never to have children and have no desire to have children — simply because I've "chosen" to wait. I not only have to cope with my circumstantial infertility, but I have to defend my desire to be married to someone I'm crazy about before conceiving. I have to defend why I'm not a mother when it's all I ever wanted to be.
The grief over never becoming a mother, the correct 'Biblical' way, is one I will never get over. I want to be a wife ....and a mother, but not the way the world is trending in that direction today. I fear God way too much to chose a human-depicted route of becoming a mother, other than the way HE showed us. But like that kind of grief, with time, it's no longer constant or active. Yes, there's still hope that I'll meet a man who has the desire to have a baby with me and will be still prepared to be with me if that is not meant to happen. Or who will grieve with me, if it does not happen. But mainly, I just keep going, hoping for love. Thankfully, there's no biological time limit on that dream.
#Openlife#survival
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